


Most Open Actions

by pipisafoat



Series: No Secrets [2]
Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: Chronic Illness, Disability, Disabled Character, Epilepsy, Episode: s01e08 The Duel, Gen, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Someone can be a friend without knowing everything," Marshall says conversationally. "Just because I'm okay with Robin hanging out with us sometimes doesn't mean I think she's going to be a permanent, full-time addition to the group."</p>
<p>"It doesn't mean she can't ever be that," Ted replies, concern and anger warring in his voice.</p>
<p>"But she wouldn't start out there."</p>
<p>"Okay," Barney whispers. "I just ... she can't be that without everybody agreeing."</p>
<p>Marshall nudges him again, leaves his shoulder against Barney's. "Nobody's going to tell her anything about anyone else without permission."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sequel to Time Does Not Reveal</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Open Actions

**Author's Note:**

> "A man's most open actions have a secret side to them." --Joseph Conrad

"I need to go," he announces suddenly, resisting the urge to clap his hands over his ears. It doesn't work when it's all in his head, and he'd really prefer not to call any more attention to himself than he already is.

"No, come on, it's still early!"

"I, I don't, I, I, I don't, I--" He clamps his mouth shut and bites down on the words jumbling up in his throat. The screams are getting louder. He screws his eyes shut against them, but it just throws him off further. He's not really sure where he is anymore; it's hot, too hot, too crowded, too loud, too full of other people's terror and screaming and--

Hands land on his shoulders, push him down a burning corridor. He cries out when he feels the flames lick his skin, and the hands tighten. There's something there, under the screams, something there, but he can't hear it, he can't find it, he can't find himself. He hunches his shoulders, tucks his head in under his arms, his wings, his whatever the fuck they are, and--

And unfolds himself, cautiously. Opens his eyes, looks around. Pushes upright, off the person he's leaning on. He turns his head slowly, so slowly, to look at them.

"Hey," Ted says quietly.

"Where..."

"Back of the bar. There's apparently an office they never use, who knew?"

"Oh." He finds himself tilting again, and Ted's hands pull him back. He's leaning again. "That was, uh...."

There's a beat of silence, then Ted shrugs beside him. "It wasn't bad, from the outside. Probably just looks like I dragged you back here to yell at you for something."

"Sucked on the inside. An eternity of internal suckitude."

Ted glances at his watch. "Less than two minutes."

"Time is, uh, a little different inside." He tries to repress a shudder as an echo of the screams worms its way out of his memory, but he's not entirely sure he succeeds. 

"You need to go home?"

His brain shorts out, but not in the way he's used to. He goes from leaning slightly because he's so goddamn tired to shoving his face into Ted's chest, babbling incoherently with tears running down his face. Ted seems to take it all in stride, though. There are arms around him, hands rubbing down his back, a cheek resting on the top of his head. It feels like forever until he calms down enough to answer. "Need and want are two very different things."

"Let's go upstairs. We got you something, if you want it."

'Something' turns out to be a hideously-colored stuffed cow that kind of makes Barney want to throw up, because stuffed animals really should be more lifelike, but he hugs it to his chest anyway. "Can we watch tv?" he asks in a voice about three times quieter than he anticipated, and Ted puts a throw pillow on his leg before pulling Barney down onto it.

"You need a blanket?" He turns on the Food Network.

Barney shakes his head, presses it into the pillow. "I need a scritcher."

"If I knew what that was--"

Barney grabs Ted's hand and drops it on top of his head. "Just."

The fingers move, rub through his hair. "Yeah?"

"Mmm."

He wakes up when Marshall and Lily get home, alone on the couch with a folded blanket and a bottle of water on the coffee table in front of him. "You're staying," Lily says, quietly but with enough finality that he tugs the blanket onto his legs and burrows back into his pillow.

* * *

"In case you were wondering, your sleeve's on fire."

He looks down at his arm, yelps, and slaps at the flame. "Dammit, this suit is new!"

"And you let half your arm catch fire without looking at it. Does the new suit have magical pain-blocking properties?"

Barney shoves his forearm into the sink full of soapy water. "Shut up, Aldrin. Don't mock a dead suit."

"I thought the rule was never to mock any suit."

"It's doubly enforceable with a dead suit."

Lily laughs and steps in front of him, unbuttons his jacket but leaves the shirt alone after a glare. "Did it get your skin?"

He can feel his eye twitch as he shrugs. "Probably?"

"Well, pull your arm out of the water and let me see."

He unbuttons the sleeve, rolls it up just enough to show her the back of his wrist, presents the red skin for her study. "So, that's a yes. It got my skin."

She reaches over and turns off the stove. "We've got burn cream in the bathroom. Go make Marshall give you one of his shirts."

He tugs the sleeve back down over his wrist and follows her out of the kitchen. He pulls at the knot of his tie with his uninjured hand as he kicks at the bedroom door. "Hey, Marshall? I need a shirt."

The younger man assesses the situation with frightening speed. "Help yourself," he says, pointing at the dresser. "Are you--"

"I'm fine," Barney interrupts, yanking a too-large sweater from a drawer.

"I got the cream," Lily says, handing it to her boyfriend. "He's not fine."

"So I got a little close to the stove and ruined a suit. It's been a long day."

Marshall tosses the cream onto the bed between them. "You know, you're really only this defensive when it's about a seizure. We're not going to freak out if you burned yourself because you zoned out by the stove."

"I didn't have a goddamn seizure," he bites out, snatching up the cream and marching to the bedroom door. Marshall stops him with a gentle hand on his chest, and he breaks. "I got burned because I _thought_ I was having one when I really wasn't. I keep having little ones where it feels like fire and it looks like fire but it never is, so...." He wheels around Marshall and slams the bathroom door behind him, leaving the ruined suit in the bathtub when he comes back out, slathered in burn cream and swallowed whole by what turns out to be an incredibly cheesy Christmas sweater.

Mercifully, they let the matter drop, and when Ted gets home a couple minutes later, a single look from Marshall stops the question before it's asked. His arm aches, and he feels like enough of an idiot without another interrogation about his brain. All he wants is to eat the damn dinner he sacrificed his arm helping with and then go home and prepare for his early morning meeting.

He keeps the sweater as punishment for them forcing him to talk about his brain. He's not sure they understand that's the reason, but it works for him. It's just an added bonus that Marshall spends the next Christmas shooting suspicious looks at him from inside his decidedly un-festive sweater.

* * *

He glares at Ted with as much disapproval and irritation as he can muster - which turns out to be quite a bit, because Ted eyes him and asks, "What?"

"I played along with your three ridiculous parties when you were trying to get her, because hello, parties and sex, all good wingmen support these. But I won't let you do this."

"You don't actually get a say in who my friends are."

Panic bites at him. "Marshall and Lily just got a say!"

Ted shrugs. "They get a say in who comes into their apartment."

Barney throws back the rest of his scotch in one too-big swallow. "We're a group, okay? We're one group of friends. You can't just add somebody to the group without everybody approving, and I don't approve."

"You didn't mind when I was dating her."

"That's because everybody knows friendship is a much bigger commitment than dating! See how fast the dating was over? I don't care who you know for a week or two. You can't just force a new friend on me, though. You just can't." He's breathing too fast; he can feel the lightheadedness setting in. He grabs the edge of the table to try to calm down.

"Nobody's forcing anybody on you," Ted says, starting to sound angry now. "You're free to stop hanging out with us whenever you choose."

He squeezes the table, squeezes his eyes shut. Heat flashes over him, and the room feels like it tilts. "If it's so easy, you do it. Choose her over us."

"I seem to recall you were the one who forced himself on us, a few years ago."

His other hand finds the table too, fumbles until it can grasp the edge. "That's different." The room is shrinking now, tilting and shrinking.

"Barney?"

"How, exactly, is that different?"

"Ted, wait."

"You could have said no. I would have left if you'd said no. You're not letting us say no."

"Barney, hey, you okay?"

"Nobody's forcing you to stay."

"Ted, seriously, stop for a minute."

"Don't tell me you're taking his side now!"

"This isn't about sides, Ted! Look at him."

The silence fills what little empty space the room has, and Barney ducks his head, tucks it against his chest, tries to take small breaths, slow breaths. He can feel the ceiling pressing down on his shoulders, walls pushing against him on two sides, Marshall and the table looming on the other sides. The bench is sliding out from under him, and he leans against the tilt of the floor to stay upright, only to find that Marshall isn't leaning, Marshall is tilting along with the room. He scrabbles frantically at the table, pushing against Marshall, fighting to stay upright as he grows and grows and room shrinks, and then--

He feels a shake run through his body, and he relaxes his grip on the table. "Sorry," he mutters, and Marshall nudges him gently with a shoulder.

"Someone can be a friend without knowing everything," he says conversationally. "Just because I'm okay with Robin hanging out with us sometimes doesn't mean I think she's going to be a permanent, full-time addition to the group."

"It doesn't mean she can't ever be that," Ted replies, concern and anger warring in his voice.

"But she wouldn't start out there."

"Okay," Barney whispers. "I just ... she can't be that without everybody agreeing."

Marshall nudges him again, leaves his shoulder against Barney's. "Nobody's going to tell her anything about anyone else without permission."

"That, I will agree to," Ted says.

He nods, reaches for his glass, stares at it in confused sadness. "I'm empty."

"Do you really think more alcohol is a good idea right now?"

He glares at Ted again, anger flaring easily. "Nobody asked you, _Dad_."

"Wendy's bringing it," Marshall says in that tone of voice Barney recognizes from every other time he's said or done something out of proportion postictally.

"You suck," he says, and he's not really sure what he means, but he refocuses on the scotch that appears in front of him and ignores everything else as long as Marshall lets him lean.

* * *

_my aunts coming 2 town do u want 2 meet her_

_barney_

_its the aunt i told u about_

_the one with e_

_u dont have 2_

_she doesnt know about u i wont tell her if u dont want me 2_

_barney_

_u can say no_

_barney_

_r u there_

_r u still alive_

_can i have ur tv if ur dead_

**I've been at work, jackass. When's she coming?**

_2morrow til weds_

_u can say no_

**I'm saying yes. Is she as big as you?**

_no she married my moms brother regular size_

_is that still yes_

**I'm not shallow enough to base meeting someone on their potential freakishness.**

_yes u r_

_is that still yes_

**Only someone I'm trying to have sex with. And yes.**

**Where and when?**

_ill ask her do u want to get dinner or what_

**Any day but tomorrow. Dinner is good. I can make a reservation. What does she like?**

_ill handle it_

**Frankly, I don't trust you to find a decent restaurant.**

**Just let me do it. I'll pay.**

_u dont have to pay but u can pick the place if u want 2_

**Oh, I definitely want to.**

**You text like a kindergartener.**

_sum of lilys kids at school r better at it than me_

**That's not the kind of thing you should ever admit to me.**

_yea i realized that 2 late_

* * *

"Aunt Nel's been after me for two months now, wanting to know which of my friends has epilepsy."

Barney shrugs. "So?"

"So, why didn't you just tell her it was you? She thinks it's Ted!"

He glares at Marshall. "And we don't want poor Ted to be thought of as anything less than perfect."

"Hey, whoa, that's not what I'm saying."

"It's what I'm hearing."

"Get your ears checked. She's sending him Facebook messages with tips about how to manage it. He doesn't want to tell her it's you unless you're okay with it, but it's weird for him."

He shrugs again. "Not my problem."

The next morning, his email is full of forwarded messages, but a couple of them have ideas he hasn't tried yet.

* * *

He hasn't regretted anything this much in years, and that's saying a lot, because he definitely slept with a fat chick last week. (The worst part of that story was that she was only pretending to know anything about Star Wars, but he's over that. Nothing a marathon with Ted and Marshall couldn't fix.) But this? Worse than the fat chick, because there was no sex involved (and seriously, no matter what he says, size has _nothing_ to do with skill in bed). His only consolation is that Lily feels guilty about it.

Well, she doesn't feel guilty about the no-sex thing, but he gave up on sleeping with her about two days after he met her. She's guilty about the whole ridiculous sob story that had him leaving work to pick up a gerbil from a pet shop and bring it directly to her, at her school. She's also guilty about the fact that she totally lied to the kids about it being the same gerbil she took home Friday, but that's doing nothing for him. At least her guilt about making him run bizarre errands (seriously, he had to check the markings on the gerbil's belly; no kid is going to look that closely at the lamest pet in the history of classroom pets) is earning him free soup for dinner, delivered straight to his pathetic blanket-nest on his couch.

"When they figure out he's a fake, it's not my fault," he mumbles as he sets the empty bowl on the coffee table and falls sideways. "And when we invade North Korea next week, that's on you, too."

(And here's the thing about North Korea: it's a country he can pronounce even when he can't breathe through his nose, it's a country he never actually deals with, and it's a convenient scapegoat any time he needs to talk about the classified stuff at work without getting tossed in jail. He's pretty sure nobody believes a word he says, even when the only change is the country name, but that's for the best, really.)

But Lily looks worried, and he kicks the blankets off again. Fevers are the actual worst thing in the world. He would rather fight off five clingy ex-one-night-stands than have a fever. "We're not actually going to invade North Korea, are we?"

He shrugs. In his head, he's about to say, _Couldn't tell you if I wanted to_ , but he finds his hands clamped over his mouth instead. He fights down the nausea with nothing more than willpower, then glares weakly up at her. "Where did you get the soup?"

"From a can in the grocery store," she replies promptly. "None of the places where you're always worried about food poisoning."

His metaphorical gut tells him she's not lying, but his literal gut is not convinced. "Lily," he gasps, leaning over the edge of the couch just in time to throw up all over the floor.

"I'll clean it up," she promises, looking more than a little green at the prospect.

"Call Ted," he says, staring at the mess.

"I can handle it."

"Lily, call Ted. Tell him to open the envelope." His stomach churns again, and he doesn't waste his energy resisting it. There's a wet cloth in his hand when he's done, and he wipes his mouth and forehead. "If one of your little bastards gave me the flu, this won't stop until it's too late."

She looks all set to protest, but he hands her his phone, swallows past the once-again rising nausea, and burrows back into his blankets when it passes. "And then get me a goddamn trash can. This floor is not cheap."

Ted shows up an hour later with both Marshall and the (still unopened) envelope with him. Lily huddles with them to read the missive, and then they all stare at him expectantly.

"I wrote it down for the express purpose of never saying it out loud," he grumbles from within the blankets.

"And you gave it to me two years ago," Ted points out. "Is it all still current? Your meds haven't changed, you haven't had a ... a big one, since then?"

Barney feels a smile tugging on his lips, and he nods. "Four years, Teddy boy." He's absurdly proud of himself for it, and he's even more pleased about the fact that Ted used Barney's own scared-to-actually-say-it words instead of calling it a grand mal or a tonic-clonic.

"That's awesome," Marshall says, and Barney feels the smile slide off him.

"More than quadrupled my previous record. I'd prefer not to end the streak, but...."

"I am _so sorry_ ," Lily says again, and he rolls over under the blankets.

"Shut up, Aldrin." His stomach churns again, and he swallows against the nausea, wondering if there's even anything left in there. Dinner came straight back up, and with it, his evening pills. Considering that he slept until mid afternoon and missed his morning dose, it'll happen any minute now. Stupid goddamn body with its stupid goddamn brain, stupid Lily's stupid children, stupid Ted who for once didn't open something he was told not to, stupid Marshall looking worried already when nothing's even happening yet except for a new taste rising in his mouth, choking out the nausea--

And he pries his eyes open with extreme effort to see them gathered so closely together over him that he can't even see the ceiling. They moved awfully quickly there, to surround him like that. He blinks, surprised at how hard it is not to just leave his eyelids closed. It takes a few more slow-motion, exhausting blinks for reality to catch up to him.

"How long?" he asks, and he's pretty sure he's already asked them, but he has no idea what they said.

"Too fucking long," Marshall mutters, and the others look like they agree with him.

"Three minutes," Ted says quietly. "Measuring from when convulsions started, not from your usual smaller ones."

He nods. "That's not bad."

"Eight after that for any kind of response. Four more for coherence. And I guess we'll see how long until your memory kicks back in."

Barney nods again, then, "How long?"

Lily stifles what's either a curse or a sob and turns away. "I can't do this," she says, flees into the back of the apartment. Barney feels tears prickle at his eyes and pulls the blanket up over his head.

"No, hey, it's okay," Marshall says quickly, drops a hand on his shoulder through the blanket. "She'll be back. We're still here. We're all still here."

"For how long?" he chokes out.

"Three--"

"I remember this time," he spits at Ted. "Three, eight, four. Better than I expected. How much longer are you all here?"

"Until you tell us to go," Ted answers.

Marshall sits beside him, and that's about the time Barney realizes he's on the floor instead of the couch. "If you mean a less literal _here_ , then the answer is even after you tell us to go."

"Never."

"Then always." His eyes are closed, but it feels like two sets of hands urge him back up onto the couch, get the blanket spread back over him, settle his head on Marshall's thigh. "We're not so easily gotten rid of."

* * *

He knows this doesn't exactly make him any different from the general population, but he hates being sick. Really, really, really _abhors_ it.

* * *

It's like his brain got overjoyed at the prospect of a few grand mals and is kind of done with seizing now, but he knows better than to trust that sort of thinking. Lily still gives him anxious looks every day, but the guys are being remarkably awesome at not letting anything change. Most guys, you flail uncontrollably and piss your pants in front of them, it's an issue, but.... 

"You're a good friend," he says to Ted, and conversation grinds to a halt as everybody stares at him. 

"I have to admit, I didn't think I would ever hear that," Marshall mutters just loudly enough for him to hear. 

Barney glares at them. "Part of my new campaign to help Ted admit I'm his best friend. I show him some appreciation, he shows me some."

"Pretty sure I heard you tell a girl that the other day. Pretty sure you were talking about oral sex. So: ew."

Barney rolls his eyes. "Just because I think you're a girl doesn't mean I want to have sex with you."

"Every other girl in New York disagrees with that claim," Lily puts in. 

"Hey! I don't sleep with fatties."

"Every other girl, Lily?"

A few select comments at the ideal times keep the other four talking about Ted's relative girliness for the rest of the evening, and Barney smirks, listens with half an ear, and surveys the female population of the bar. It's kind of nice, planning a hookup when he's pretty sure he doesn't have to worry about his brain getting in the way. Must be what it's like to be a normal person. 

He kind of wishes he could be a normal person every night.

* * *

"I'm sort of on a date with her." His head feels like isn't quite attached, but Robin doesn't know about him, and he is damn well going to keep it that way.

"What?" Their surprise is a little bit gratifying. The schemes are always fun, but they're always a little bit more fun with an audience.

"Yeah, I found her online. I'm tired of the whole bar scene, one-night hookups. I'm looking for a soulmate. Someone I can love and cuddle." He pauses for dramatic effect, but not as long as he usually would. He's not sure he can keep the same train of thought if he stops for too long; it'll just disappear in the fog surrounding his brain. "Or so it says in my profile."

They're used to his bizarre getting-laid plots, but he can tell this one surprised them some. He wishes he could muster up the appropriate enthusiasm and energy to demand high fives, but he forces out a short evil laugh instead. It's enough to keep suspicion away.

"But this girl ... she wants the same stuff. And it's bumming me out." The booth with the girl in it stops looking real, starts to look like someone sketched it on the wall, and he gives in. "Alright, Ted, call me from the hospital."

Marshall and Lily aren't the only ones with code words. Ted gives him a quick once-over before agreeing.

"You're going to the hospital?" Barney swallows against the nausea as more of the bar turns into pencil-sketches and lets Ted handle the explanation. "I expect more from you, Barney."

He's pretty sure she's insulting the quality of his methods and not the fact that he's using them. "Well, stay tuned. I'm working on some stuff." He's got plenty of other stuff, stuff that Ted helps him with on occasion, but nothing else that means _get me out of this so my brain can twitch without an audience._ Priorities. "But in the meantime, wish me luck." The sketches fade back into reality as he walks closer to them, and he wishes that were a guarantee that the seizure's over. It seems more likely that a bigger one is coming, though, so he plays along through Robin's surprisingly raunchy phone call. He gets up to leave, realizes Ted might need to reminded that Robin _does not need to know_ , and swerves over towards their table on the way out. "See you guys later," he says with a quick look at Ted. Ted's eyes flick briefly to the ceiling, and Barney gives him the tiniest nod before fake-sobbing his way out of the bar and up to see if Marshall and Lily are around or if he'll be seizing in peace.

(He's not sure when the idea of peace became a bad thing.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to take a moment to mention the fat-shaming language in this. It's included in dialogue as being a part of Barney's character, much as it is in the show. It's turned on its head in Barney's own internal monologue because I refuse to believe that he's as much of an asshole as he tries to be. He has his preferences, but I'm pretty sure he'll work outside of them for sex, and then he really has no choice but to admit that "no matter what he says, size has _nothing_ to do with skill in bed." I'd also like to state explicitly that I find shaming of any body size - larger than average, smaller than average, or exactly average - horrific behavior and in no way condone any of the remarks in that vein made by my characters.
> 
> I also want to thank you, dear readers! I wrote this fic, the one before it, and all the ones to come* in a fit of pure self-indulgence and only posted them on the offchance that one or two people might be interested in watching me break Barney into tiny pieces. It's gen fic with a low rating and some relatively scary and/or niche tags; I expected minimal readership. I'm honestly overwhelmed at the response Time Does Not Reveal saw. I hope you continue to enjoy the series!
> 
> And for the person who sent me the anonymous message via LJ: yes, this is based on my own experiences, and yes, I am currently relatively healthy and successful. And I appreciate your concern; it was not creepy to ask!
> 
>  
> 
> *nothing else is complete; I have bits and pieces from all over the timeline. If I stop writing this story altogether, I will post those disconnected pieces for you, and you can feel free to remind me to do so if you don't see anything new for a few months.


End file.
